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The Open Book 

HUMOROUS VERSE 
By 
Madeline Bridges ^^it^^ J 



NEW YORK 

Ube Itnfclierbocfter f>re00 

MCMXV 



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Copyright 19 iS 

BY 

MARY AINGE DeVERE 



FEB 2 1916 

©Ji.A420627 



DEDICATED 
To My Friends of the Firelight Circle 



CONTENTS 








PAGB 


Fate and Lace Work 3 


My Neighbor 










4 


His Answer . 










5 


The Mad, Mad Hats 










6 


To Every One 










8 


A Freak of Nature 










9 


The Cry of the Hostess 


3 








10 


Her Logic . 










12 


The Masculine View 










13 


Andy's Widda 










14 


The Welcome Man 










16 


Beside Her Hammock 










17 


The Photograph . 










18 


Metaphysical 










19 


Between the Lines 










21 


Changed 










22 


Her Milking Pail 










23 


The Cup-Bearer . 










25 


The Way of It 










26 


Were Robin Hood Alivi 


5 To-] 


Day . 






27 


Afterward . 










28 


His Musings 










29 


Spring Stirrings . 










31 



VI 



CONTENTS 



The Old, Old Fashion 

Souvenirs 

A Victory 

Too Respectful . 

A Cured Heartache 

Broken Threads . 

Her Perfect Lover 

Convinced . 

She's Kind as She Is Fair 

Jim . . . 

The Point of View 

WiD Thady's Pipe beside the 

The Poet's Wife . 

What Will People Say 

The Simple City Folk 

A Needed Charity 

Car-Fare 

His Interpretation 

A Different Tune 

A Conundrum 

A Girl . 

A Cogitation 

A Sketch 

As It Should Be . 

A Woman's Sorrow 

A Fair Sinner 

What Gladys Said 

One Summer 

'TwixT Cup and Lip 



Door 



PACK 

33 
34 
35 
36 
37 
38 

39 
40 

41 
43 
44 
45 
46 

47 
49 
51 
52 
53 
54 
55 
56 
57 
58 

59 
61 
62 

63 
64 



CONTENTS 






vii 


PAGE 


Yes, or No? 65 


Explained .... 








67 


The Fatal Topic . 








68 


Roses 








69 


Two Views of It . 








70 


A Sea-Side Hermit 








71 


Years of Discretion 








72 


The Postman 








73 


A Pessimistic Revery . 








75 


A By-Gone Joy 








77 


The Whole Story 








. 78 


Love's Hour 








. 79 


Peggy .... 








80 


Her Puzzling Ways 








81 


Blue Eyes and Brown . 








. 82 


Smiles vs. Tears . 








. 84 


"It" .... 








. 85 


The Easter Girl . 








86 


A Useful Bi^izzard 








. 87 


Refused 








. 88 


The Quest of the Pilgrims 








. 89 


The Happiest Time 








■ 90 


A Clever Man 








. 91 


Two Phantoms 








92 


Away with Them! 








93 


'Tis Time to Rise . 








94 


A Study 








. 95 


The Vanquished Man . 








. 96 


A Hopeless Case . 








97 


Two Invitations . 








. 98 



viii CONTENTS 








PAGE 


What She did Not Say loi 


Her Tyrant Master 








. 102 


The False Oracle 








, 102 


At Dawn 








. 104 


Multiplication 








. 105 


A Free Slave 








. 105 


The Maiden's Aim 








. 106 


A Graduate . 








107 


On the Yacht 








. 107 


Silence . 








. 108 


The Outlook 








. 108 


Her Way of Waiting . 








109 


Irish Courtship . 








no 


Poetic Justice 








113 


What Like Is a Lover . 








. 114 


The Old, Old Story 








115 


Consistent .... 








116 


The Cry of the Reviewers . 








117 


The I OF Me 








119 


Why? 








120 



THE OPEN BOOK 

" The Book of my Heart is all my own — 
No leaf is turned, and no page is shown 

To any outside beholder.'' 
Proudly she spoke, hut she did not know 
That man and woman, and friend and foe^ 

Were reading it, over her shoulder I 



FATE AND LACE WORK 

Of course, I loved him. (One, two, three, 
And slip the fourth.) Dear fellow, yes! 

He loved me madly. (Now you see, 
This time you take two stitches less.) 

Quite tall, well built, his eyes were gray. 

(You pull that thread the other way, 

Two loops.) A dimple in his chin; 

The sweetest hair! (My dear, observe.) 
He was a poet. (These begin 

The second row, and make the curve.) 
I'm sure you'd like to read the rhymes 
He wrote me, (Round the edge three times.) 

Poor boy. It was so sad to part ! 

He died quite young. (Another one 
But not so tight.) It broke my heart — 

(There, that is very nicely done !) 
He was my first love, and — my last. 
(Be careful, dear — don't go so fast.) 

My husband? Ah, so good and kind! 

I met him (Now the pattern shows.) 
In Europe. We were married (Mind 

That turn.) Well, yes, as marriage goes, 

I'm happy. (Keep the thread quite straight 

Or it will tangle.) Such is Fate! 

3 



THE OPEN BOOK 



MY NEIGHBOR 

I*D give my heart to hope, and my hands to 
daily labor; 
I'd have my home a cottage, set in a space 
of green, 
And you to be my neighbor — ^my friendly next- 
door neighbor — 
With, maybe, nothing more than just a wild- 
rose hedge between. 

I'd wander in my garden when the twilight 
dews were falling; 
I'd dig and hoe, and spade and sow in 
warmth of rosy morns — 
And I'd linger often, near the hedge, in hope 
to hear you calling, 
For a hedge is soon jumped over — both 
the roses and the thorns. 

Oh, if you were my neighbor, my charming 

winsome neighbor, 
My courting would be night and day, and 

never, never done — 
I'd tell you tales, I'd sing you songs, I*d play 

on flute and tabor — 



HIS ANSWER 5 

As shepherds woo, I'd woo you, dear, and 

woo till you were won. 
Then you would be my neighbor, my nearest, 

dearest neighbor; 
For evermore my neighbor — my own, and 

only one ! 



HIS ANSWER 

** Before you ask my vow," she said, 

"Dear, listen to this word: 
You're not the first man I have loved, 

Nor second, — nay — nor third." 

**Am I the fourth or fifth," he asked 
With scorn, "or were there more? " 

"Now, don't be hurt and grieved," she 
sighed — 
"But, as I said before — 

"'Tis not my first love, dear, — but hark!" — 

He felt her gentle touch — 
"I promise it shall be my last : 

Now — can you say as much? " 

A silence fell — upon her hand 

He bowed his manly head. 
* ' My love, ' ' he said — * * my own — my bride ! * ' — 

But — that was all he said ! 



THE OPEN BOOK 



THE MAD, MAD HATS 

Oh the hats and the mad, mad hats ! 

The tiles, the turbans, the pokes, the flats — 

Hats pushed back from the brow, and those 

Tilted forward, to hide the nose — 

The infant's hat — the hat of the pope — 

The straight square hat — the hat with 

slope — 
Hats that present us a dish of grapes, — 
These are the hats of the different shapes! 

Oh the hats, made of everything — 
The hats that the changing seasons bring! 
Butterfly hats, with dangling veils. 
Fur hats, trimmed with animals' tails, 
Hats that challenge, like impish elves, 
Hats that look ashamed of themselves 
(And well they may be — on any head!), 
Hats that make us wish we were dead! 

Oh, the hats, as they come and go. 
And come again to our utter woe ! 
Hats without brim, hats without crown — 
Hats, like a plate turned upside down — 



THE MAD, MAD HATS 7 

Hats of tinsel, and tangled lace — 
Hats that are openly a disgrace — 
Hats that would cause a saint to swear, — 
These are the hats that the women wear! 

Oh, the hats that they dare to wear! 
I gaze as I pass, and scowl, and stare. 
And mutter and mumble and grind my teeth 
And wondering, ask, if the brains beneath 
Have no more sense than these mad, mad hats ! 
My thoughts go whirling like dizzy bats. 
Only one answer I find — and that's — 
No one with brains could wear such hats ! 



THE OPEN BOOK 



TO EVERY ONE 

Stop telling people what to do — 

Stop it this day — this hour! 
Check the advice you're yearning to 

Impart — restrict your power 
To guide, — for oh, the bliss, the peace, 
Could counselling and advising cease ! 

Stop telling people what to do ! 

Then, seeing where you're at. 
Others may take your point of view — 

Picture the joy of that ! 
Never to meet the maddening thrust 
Of "Why don't you?" "You ought," "You 
must." 

Stop telling people what to do; 

For neither young nor old 
Are heeding, any more than you 

Have done as you've been told. 
Good counsel is that sort of cake 
That all can give, but none will take. 



A FREAK OF NATURE 

Stop telling people what to do, 
And inward turn your eyes ; 

There you will find the blunderer who 
Most needs your sage advice; 

There you will find the only one 

Poor blockhead you are fit to run ! 



A FREAK OF NATURE 

An ugly girl, a handsome man — 
And no one can tell whether 
It comes by Fate's especial plan; 
But, given a corner, and a fan, 
You'll find them there, together. 

An ugly man, a handsome girl — 
This rule, too, seems most certain; 
Wherever dancers glide and twirl, 
They're sitting, safe from glare and whirl, 
Paired off, behind a curtain. 



10 THE OPEN BOOK 



THE CRY OF THE HOSTESS 

Oh, I am weary, heart and hand, 

And warped, and worn, and strained — 

So tired of entertaining, and 
Of being entertained ! 

Could I but once pay up the calls 

That now, alas, I owe, 
I'd gladly hug my four home walls 

And from them never go. 

And with what joy I'd waltz about — 
Yea, with what heartfelt glee — 

If no one came to ask me out, 
Or ever called on me. 

So scared is my affrighted soul 

Of dinners, luncheons, teas, 
I'd build a house at the North Pole 

To get away from these. 

Oh, what delight to sit and gaze 
Over the wastes of snow. 

Quite sure no form would cross the space- 
Either of friend, or foe ! 



THE CRY OF THE HOSTESS ii 

Fearing, nor woman, man, nor child, 
Nor even the postman's ring — 

The cards and invitations piled 
That he is sure to bring. 

Yea, could I pay my calls and see 

My list quite clear again, 
My score wiped out, my tablets free. 

My mind at ease. . . . Ah, then — 

I'd ask of Fate this blessing dear 
Of all dear blessings known — 

For one long, idle, listless year 
Just to be let alone ! 



12 THE OPEN BOOK 



HER LOGIC 

I MAY not kiss you, sweetest ? Why, 
Since all the world to love is molded? 

Look how the happy butterfly 
Kisses the rose and isn't scolded ! 

See how the stream with tender lips 
Its green and mossy margin presses. 

And even the stately willow dips 
Her beauty to the tide's caresses. 

I may not kiss you? 'Tis absurd 
To scorn the truth all nature traces ! 

The very breeze, upon my word. 

Stands still, and kisses both our faces. 

"Quite right," she said, "for breezes, John, 
For butterflies and streamlets, dearest; 

I notice, though, they soon pass on 

To kiss — the next thing that comes 
nearest ! " 



THE MASCULINE VIEW 13 



THE MASCULINE VIEW 

*'She*s really a lovely girl," he said, 

"A blonde, and extremely fair, 
With a gracefully small and classic head." 

' * Indeed ? And what did she wear ? ' ' 

**Her eyes — you know those eyes like mist, 

Just the color of skies, at dawn, 
With lashes the longest, silkiest — " 

"Yes — yes, but what had she on?" 

**I liked her manner. Its gentle charm 

Suggested a soul at rest; 
And then — her smile was so sweet and 
warm — " 

** Good gracious I How was she dressed ? 

*'She must have worn some sort of a gown ? " 
"Why — yes — that is certainly clear; 

But I did not see it, I frankly own — 
I saw only her, my dear!" 



14 THE OPEN BOOK 



ANDY'S WIDDA 

We alius fix his grave up good, 
Carline 'n' me — at least she does. 

Poor Andy ! When he fell I stood 
Right by him — so — as if it wuz 

Me here — him there. I broke his fall 

With a quick grab, but — that wuz all — 
He left his wife a widda. 

'N' that wuz what he dreaded, too, 
From firs' to las'. He used to say: 

"Oh, you're all right. Ef I wuz you 
I wouldn't car' much either way; 

But when you know you're goin' to leave 

Some one behind to fret 'n' grieve 
'N' live a lonely widda! " 

He had her pictur' — ^jes' a girl, 

A pleasant young thing — well enough; 

But Andy 'lowed she were the pearl; 
The best, tip-topest kind of stuff ! 

He used to look 'n' look 'n' smile 

'N' say:/' Old boy! she ain't the style 
Now, is she, fer a widda ? " 

'N'Cmy! I got that pictur' yet. 

I kep' it kinder for his sake 
When I fetched home his things 'n' met 

His folks 'n' — her. I hed to break 
The news, 'n' mighty hard to do, 
Seein' I'd brung poor Andy too, 
Home to his little widda. 



ANDY'S WIDDA 15 

Hard work, I tell ye, boys, that's so ! 

'N' sakes! ye'd oughter heard her cry! 
Be good 'n' glad you didn't though; 

But — well, she ca'med down by 'n' by, 
'N ' then I hed to tell about 
Jes' how the whole blame scrape come out 
To that inquirin' widda. 

*N ' so on Decoration Day 

I git his grave up extra fine, 
Or — Car'line does. I hev to stay 

Most of the time in marchin' line — 
A-filin* here, salutin' there — 
Us vetterns got to do our share 
Fer every soldier's widda. 

But Andy, poor old boy ! his grave — 
We tend to that, or — Car'line does; 

'N' then, of course, she likes to have 
Her little quiet cry, becuz — 

Well, jes' becuz — 'twixt you 'n* me — 

It's on'y natural — for, you see, 
I married Andy's widda. 

'N' so it's kinder comforting 

When Decoration Day comes round 

With the rememberies it bring 

Of them old comrades underground, 

It's really comforting to drink 

Poor Andy's health 'n' — well, to think 
His wife ain't left a widda. 



l6 THE OPEN BOOK 



THE WELCOME MAN 

Of men and lovers, brothers — all — 

He is the welcome one ! 
Whenever he may choose to call 

I gladly rise, and run 
To meet and greet him with a smile 
And eager beating heart, the while. 

At morn if I am not **in trim" 

And other fellows come, 
I cleverly retreat. To him 

I always am at home — 
With bangs in crimp, I boldly stand 
And willingly extend my hand. 

And yet his presence sometimes brings 
Regret, and pain, and blame. 

And other aggravating things — 
No matter ! Just the same 

I fly to ope the door and see 

If he a letter have for me ! 



BESIDE HER HAMMOCK 17 



BESIDE HER HAMMOCK 

The warm leaf -shadows fleck her face and hair 
And waver down to kiss her feet, and then, 

No doubt, go wavering off some other where, 
While I — how blest above a world of men ! — 

I am allowed to sit, and gently stir 

Her hammock, now and then, and talk to her. 

But too much bliss, in man's imperfect state, 
Ceases ere long, to bless ; hence, as I swing, 

I'm silently rebelling against Fate 
And getting very weary of this thing; 

And yet I sit and smile, the while I yearn 

For some one else to come and take a turn. 

Still, there's one thought which makes me 
almost gay, — 
To know that other fellows fret and pine 
And grind their teeth, watching this hammock 
sway. 
They little dream that I am grinding mine; 
And so life goes, and never can one guess 
How much is real of seeming happiness. 



i8 THE OPEN BOOK 



THE PHOTOGRAPH 

Looked Cleopatra thus, when Antony gazed, 
And all the world beside, upon her grace? 
Had Troy's bewildering Helen such a face? 

Eyes like to these, the girl that Petrarch 
praised? 

Was the fair Mary Magdalen more fair? 

The dear Madonna of a purer mold? 

As calm, the chaste Diana (and as cold) ? 
Great Joan worthier to do and dare? 

Meeker, betimes, could meek Griselda prove? 

Zantippe, half as saucy to her slave? 

Aspasia, of a loftier tone — as grave? 
Or Eve more warmly formed for life and love? 

I ask these questions, with my brain a-whirl, 
Of you, my sweetheart, twentieth-century girl. 



METAPHYSICAL 19 



METAPHYSICAL 

"You cannot speak of what you feel ? 

But why? " she asked him, as they walked. 
The moon's first ray began to steal 

Across the garden where they talked. 

**Is it too deep for words — too high, 
Too sad, too bad — your thought of me ? 

Come now — ^take courage, frankly try 

To speak your mind. Be brave, " said she. 

** You wish me to be true ? " he sighed. 

"I do." "And brave?" " Yes— brave and 
true." 
"But if the truth should hurt your pride, 

And to be brave would anger you? " 

She smiled with gentle tolerance. 

"That I have faults I quite well know; 
Yet speak — for truth's sake I will chance 

Or stinging shaft or hurting blow. 

"Why should not soul respond to soul 
Without," she said, "this wretched art? 

These poor pretenses that control 
The earnest impulse of the heart? " 



20 THE OPEN BOOK 

They paused. He seemed as one distraught, 

And as he quietly drew near, 
And stooped his head, she merely thought 

He meant to whisper in her ear. 

But no such thing the villain meant. 

"Words," he remarked, in thoughtful mood, 
*'Too often fail of their intent, 

And are, at best, misunderstood. 

"In that I think and feel for you 
(Forgive me), action must eclipse 

All speech in being frank and true." 
He kissed her square upon the lips. 

She turned away with cheeks aflame, 
With angry tears — he saw them fall — 

"Men, men," she sobbed, "are all the same." 
She did not blame herself at all. 

And yet the chances are that he, 
Altho' the garden walks were dim, 

Might have remained quite sane had she 
Not too completely cornered him. 



BETWEEN THE LINES 21 



BETWEEN THE LINES 

Dear Mr. Raymond, (Dearest Ned!) 
My mother wishes I should write 

(She does not wish it half as much 
As / do, darling !) to invite 

Your presence at bridge whist, (Of course, 
You hate it, dear — I'm glad you do !) 

On Wednesday evening. She has planned 
A pleasant party (I have, too!) 

And hopes you'll come, if not engaged. 

(Of course you will ! I mean to get 
Old Hodge and Mrs. Winks to fill 

Our places — yours and mine !) Please let 

Dear Mama know if she may count 

Upon your coming (Yes, she may). 
She sends her very best regards. 
And I am (more than I can say). 
Sincerely yours, 

J. E. Van Ness. 
(Your little, loving girlie, Jess !) 



22 THE OPEN BOOK 



CHANGED 

We, who were lovers so warm and near 
When spring's young buds were growing, 

Walk to-day through the woodlands drear 
With the dead leaves round us blowing. 

Here is the path where my timid arm 
First dared in its clasp to fold her, 

And here by the clear stream's songful charm 
Her cheek first touched my shoulder. 

And yonder — what passionate dream is this — 
What breath through the silence sobbing? 

The pulsing thrill of an endless kiss, 

Or the sound of a heart's wild throbbing? 

We walk as of old, but we walk apart. 

Through the well-known nooks and spaces; 

We stand no more with heart pressed to heart 
In the lonely beautiful places. 

But I follow mutely her footstep slow 

Through the cool bright autumn weather, 

Because — we were married six months ago 
And are used to being together ! 



HER MILKING PAIL 23 



HER MILKING PAIL 

When Doris took her milking pail 

To cross the dewy meadow, 
The eastern sky was golden pale, 

The valley lay in shadow; 
I followed slowly, not too near, 
And softly, lest the maid should hear. 

The wet, white daisies bent to touch 

Her slender foot, and kiss it; 
I envied them this pleasure, much. 

Since I'd been doomed to miss it; 
And thought the flowers were treated far 
More kindly than some lovers are ! 

Behind a thorn I stood to watch 
Her coax the cow, and chide her, 

And humming at a merry catch. 
Set the small stool beside her; 

While freshly as she could have wished 

The milk through dimpled fingers swished. 

Thought I: "This chance I must not miss! 
Her milk pail home I'll carry; 



24 THE OPEN BOOK 

And in return, demand a kiss; 

For milkmaids are not chary, 
The poets sing, if swains be brave; 
Hence, my reward I'll boldly crave." 

But when at length I would have stept 
Toward the maid with fervor. 

Young Stephen o'er the hedge had leapt 
With like intent to serve her; 

And lest his chance might later fail, 

Took, first, a kiss, and then, the pail! 

Unseen, I sought a shaded path, 

And left the lovers cooing; 
But now my verse a moral hath: 

Whatever's worth the doing 
You'll find — each day the story tells — 
Is being done by some one else! 



THE CUP-BEARER 25 



THE CUP-BEARER 

To Dorothy's house I often go 
When the late sweet afternoon sun is low, 
For I know that Dorothy likes to see 
Me come, and ask for a cup of tea. 

The cup is served by her Irish maid 
Nora, the beauty, whose lashes shade 
Those wonderful eyes of Irish blue — 
Matchless forever, in depth and hue ! 

I talk to Dorothy, Heaven knows what, 
For the coal-black ripples and twisted knot 
Of Nora's riotous lovely hair 
Set me staring, as idiots stare. 

I gaze on her cheeks' young crimson rose, 
Her roguish dimples and saucy nose. 
Her teeth like — no, there never were pearls 
To equal the teeth of the Irish girls ! 

Ah, what would stately Dorothy think 
If she but knew while I drink and drink 
And talk to her, logic — philosophy — lore, 
That I look at Nora, and say still more? 



26 THE OPEN BOOK 

But no answer conies — neither look, nor sign, 
Nor sigh — to these silent words of mine. 
Though Nora knows I am drinking tea 
Because she carries the cup to me ! 



THE WAY OF IT 

She kept his flowers, and in a book 
She pressed them, with a written date, 

To show him, ere his leave he took, 
That she had felt, at any rate. 

He knew her tears were falling, while 
He ground his teeth, and turned away. 

Lifting his hat, with one hard smile — 
Even '* good-bye" he did not say. 

No date he wrote, he kept no flower. 
He made no sign of heart's regret. 

She thought of him— perhaps an hour- 
He still is trying to forget! 



WERE ROBIN HOOD ALIVE TO-DA Y 27 



WERE ROBIN HOOD ALIVE TO-DAY 

Were Robin Hood alive to-day, 

Full fain would he rejoice 
To find fair woman, every way 

So suited to his choice. 

For here, in girl with golden hair, 

A boxer he'd behold; 
And there, in damsel debonair, 

An archer, strong and bold; 

Yonder, in dame of high degree, 

A rider to his mind; 
Elsewhere, in student-maid, would he 

An all-round athlete find. 

Then, if for followers he sought 

Methinks he'd quickly ken 
The charming fact, that women ought 

To be his merry men ! 



28 THE OPEN BOOK 



AFTERWARD 

"Never," he vowed it, "while life may last, 
Can I love again. I will die unwed." 

"And I, too, dear, since our dream is past, 
I will live single, " she sobbing said. 

A storm of farewells — of wild good-byes — 
He rushed from the spot, like an outcast 
soul. 

She hid in a pillow her streaming eyes, 
And wept with anguish beyond control. 

Just five years afterward, they two met 
At a vender's stand, in a noisy street; 

He saw the smile he could ne'er forget. 
And she the eyes that were more than sweet. 



"Oh, Kate! ""Oh, Harry!" 



"How well you 

look!" 
"How well you 
look!" 

"I stopped," he said, "just to get a toy 
For my little girl." " I wanted a book," 
She softly said, "for my little boy." 



HIS MUSINGS 29 



HIS MUSINGS 

To think of it ! . . . To-morrow night 

I'll be a married man! 
Time brings odd fashions in his flight. 

I wonder if one can, 
Beforehand, dream how much a wife 
May change the current of his life ! 

My feet upon the table rest, 

I've cast my coat aside — 
My necktie, also — and my vest 

Is open, free and wide — 
And as I puff my good cigar 
How strange, how new, my musings are ! 

To be no more alone! How queer! 

To think that night and day 
Her place will be beside me here — 

That she will come, to stay — 
That never can the chance occur 
For me, to go and call on her ! 

Will she shut down on cigarettes? 
A pipe she quite abhors. 



30 THE OPEN BOOK 

Sometimes a rare cigar she lets 
Me smoke, but out of doors. 
Would she be horrified to see 
The cloud that now encircles me? 

Will she object to Tom and Dick, 

And flout poor Harry too? 
At cards demur? At billiards "kick"? 

Who knows what she may do 
To catch my soul at unawares? 
Perhaps she'll make me say my prayers ! 

I wonder if she'll always seem 

So full of fitful charm, 
So like a bright elusive dream? 

When here against my arm 
Her sweet head lies, shall I be sure 
I have her fast, all mine — secure? 

Ah, sweetheart mine, the mist is deep 
Around us both . . . Life's way 

In golden shadow seems to sleep 
Beyond our wedding day! 

Yet, for all else the wide world hath, 

I would not change the untried path ! 



SPRING STIRRINGS 31 



SPRING STIRRINGS 

Lo, somewhere swung in ether free, 
The spider sights a nook where he 

May dine and sup, 
And likewise build a winding stair, 
Which flies exploring, unaware, 

May tumble up. 

Now doth the mute and struggling worm. 
Far in his clay deeps, writhe and squirm. 

To life recalled ; 
Wriggle and crawl for all he's worth 
To get above the breaking earth 

His forehead bald. 



The frog is glad, and tries his voice — 
Yet softly, for he has no choice 

But still to wait 
Until the season really opes. 
And an engagement crown his hopes 

With joy elate. 

As for mosquitoes, wasps, and bees. 
And other things, as prompt as these 

To bite and sting, 
If only kindly Nature would 
Forget to waken them, for good — 

Thrice welcome. Spring ! 



32 THE OPEN BOOK 



THE OLD, OLD FASHION 

In olden days, when love proved fickle 
And cruel fate the heart oppressed. 

Convenient Death came with his sickle 
And swept the broken flower to rest. 

It seemed to be enough that lovers 
Should wish to die — with faces hid, 

They laid them down among the clovers, 
Or on their beds, and die they did. 

But in these latter days degenerate, 

Ropes, poisons, dagger-points are sought; 

Yet these means fail us oft — at any rate 
They don't act always as they ought. 

Is it that Life grows more tenacious 
Of this, her fleeting house of clay? 

Or Death's grim maw much less rapacious, 
More fain to wait on natvire's way? 

Or is it that the tender passion 

Now comes and goes like idle breath, 

And laughing, flouts the old, old fashion 
That made Love king of Life and Death? 



SOUVENIRS 33 



SOUVENIRS 

I AM SO fond of souvenirs ! 

I get as many as I can. 
They're nice to keep in after years — 

A souvenir for every man. 
The boatswain's whistle? Yes, it's queer- 
Will Clymer carried it, at the Pier. 

This clump of moss ? If you had seen 
The breezy space whereon it grew! 

All sky and air and summer green, 
And on the rock just room for two. 

We had the sweetest time when he, 

Dear Arthur, dug it out for me ! 

My poet-lover, Raymond, stripped 

This piece of bark, and wrote the rhyme; 

It always brings to mind the script 
That Rosalind found, once on a time. 

Pinned on a tree — it is as sweet. 

But, luckily — much more discreet! 

Yes, ferns seem really fairy things ; 

They make one think of sprites and elves. 



34 THE OPEN BOOK 

I brought these back from Sharon Springs — 

We went to find them by ourselves, 
Through a big wood — the wildest place I — 
I, and my cousin, Charley Chase. 

Now, these are treasures — these two shells! 

We named them by each other's name, 
And that, of course, the story tells. 

Strange — but, they're always much the 
same. 
Those stories! See! "Sylvester," "May." 
He'll hate me till his dying day ! 

Oh! — that? That's nothing, dear, at all! 

At least — it was a boutonniere. 
We waltzed, and some one — let it fall — 

Some one, who — oh, he didn't care. 
I cared, that time . . . And — so, my dear, 
No name goes with this souvenir! 



A VICTORY 

"What is the masculine of shrew? " 
She asked. He firmly shook his head, 

And gleeful was his face to view — 
"There isn't any, dear," he said. 



TOO RESPECTFUL 35 



TOO RESPECTFUL 

He says he loves me ardently, yet he 

Of this sweet thought goes far to disabuse 
me 
When, if by accident he touches me, 

He murmurs anxiously, "Oh, pray excuse 
me. 

And when in crowded seat I take my place, 
When Fate by his dear side has close 
bestowed me, 
Why should he try so hard to give me space, 
And mourn the fact that he must ''dis- 
commode "me? 

And if, in circling dance, against his breast, 

Some whirling couple recklessly impels me, 
His handsome face, at once, looks so dis- 
tressed ; 
** Pardon, 'twas not my fault," he gently 
tells me. 

Ah, yes — he loves me, for he seems to be 
Never, of petits soins, tired nor neglectful, 

But as I'm fond of him — dear me, dear me — 
I wish he'd be a little less respectful. 



36 THE OPEN BOOK 



A CURED HEARTACHE 

Oh, dear lost heartache — sweetest pain, 
When hours were weeks and weeks were years, 
And eyes had always room for tears. 

How blest it was to pine and sigh, 
To wait for letters, sick at heart 
Of hope deferred — to kiss and part 

On dim street corners in the rain; 

To win a smile or madly feel 

A frown divide the soul like steel. 

Oh, loveliest misery! Why, why 

Did we curtail that happy grief, 

Or make one darling pang more brief? 

For now the days are simply — days. 
We part each morn, each night we meet; 
We kiss and yawn, we talk and eat 

In married life's calm peaceful ways. 
But, oh, for those dear woes abjured, 
And the sweet heartache that is cured! 



BROKEN THREADS 37 



BROKEN THREADS 

*'When the moon is up o'er yon rock,'* she 

said, 
"With its silvery arrows, in splendor spread, 

[And she pointed out which rock she meant. 
Like the back of a dolphin, curved and bent.] 

** Wherever your thoughts or footsteps be. 
You must fly to this spot, dear, and think of 
me; 

"For, be sure, when the moonrise tints the 

blue, 
In soul and spirit I'll walk with you! " 

And nobly true to her last fond prayer 
He strolled by the sea in the moonrise fair, 

Down where the breakers foam and stir. 
And looked 'round sideways, and thought of 
her 

With a guilty glance, as he held the hand 
Of a girl she hated, and paced the sand; 



38 THE OPEN BOOK 

While she, the woman, gone back to town, 
Knew not if moons came up or down. 

As she waltzed and waltzed till the break of 

day 
With a man whom she hadn't seen since May ! 



HER PERFECT LOVER 

*'I HAD a lover once," she sighed — 
"Yes, just before I married you — 

Who listened when I spoke and tried 
To answer all my questions, too. 

"So courteous and so kind — so good! 

He'd never think a man could be 
As thoughtless and, indeed, as rude 

As you too often are to me. 

"The jewel of my love once won. 

He used to swear, could ne'er grow dim; 

He would not dream that any one 
Could whistle when I spoke to him! 

"If he had faults he kept them hid. 

I should have married him? Yes; true. 
And that's exactly what I did. 

My perfect lover, sir, was — you!" 



CONVINCED 39 



CONVINCED 

"Now tell me, dearest, truth for truth — 
I sometimes fear you may have known 

In boyhood, or your earliest youth, 
Another girl you called your own. 

"Forgive me if I seem to lapse 
From perfect faith — that is not it ! 

I only wonder if, perhaps. 
You ever loved, a little bit ! " 

He thought of Kate, whose brilliant mind 
Once gave to life its keenest zest ; 

He thought of Maud, whose hair had lined 
The left-side pocket of his vest. 

He thought of Lillie, Nell, and Sue, 
Of gentle May and saucy Nan, 

And then he did as lovers do, 

And proved himself a truthful man. 

With injured air and mournful eye 
He sadly turned away his head. 

"If you can think — " she heard him sigh. 
"Oh! no — no — no! I don't! " she said. 



40 THE OPEN BOOK 



SHE'S KIND AS SHE IS FAIR 

She's kind as she is fair — aye — there's the rub ! 

If she much fairer were, or far less kind, 
If she would give me scoff, or sneer, or snub, 
I might take heart of hope — for Love, 
though blind, 
Seeks, through the guarding thorns, his rose — 

content 
To meet the stings of her environment ! 

She's kind as she is fair — that's saying much ! 

Too much, alas, for my poor haggard heart. 
Her candid eyes, her warm and friendly touch, 

Give me no joy — but rather, deeper smart — 
And seem to signal brightly, "Fool, beware! 
She's only kind because she is so fair ! " 

She's kind as she is fair. Alas, and hence, 
I make my sad adieux and go my way, — 

For want of surer warning, hurried thence 
By words too sweet, by smiles too fond and 

gay; 
Yet knowing this, — if I were to her mind. 
She could not be too fair — much less, too 

kind! 



JIM 41 



JIM 

When Jim, the hired man, first came 

He never had a word to say, 
'Cept jest to answer to his name; 

He'd sleep all night, and work all day, 
And eat his meals, and go and come 
'Most like as if he's deef and dumb. 



/ didn't care. Why, no ! Of course. 

Sometimes Pa'd send me down the farm 

To tell him to hitch up the horse. 
Or help us get the bees to swarm; 

But not a word he'd say — not he! 

He wouldn't even look at me. 

Well, by and by that made me mad. 

As tall, and clever built, and trim. 
Nice teeth and hair — oh, not half bad 

To look at, and I looked at him 
Considerable, first and last, 
And jest as temptin' as I da'st. 

I used to curl my hair at night, 
And dress and fix up every day; 

He never cared a single mite — 
He'd always stare the other way, 

And pet the dog, or stroke the cow. 

Or coax the cat — oh, he knew howl 



42 THE OPEN BOOK 

Course, other fellows came around, 
Much better dressed and not so shy; 

They cared enough, but I was bound 
I'd make him care, or I'd know why. 

And so I picked on Sammy Snow, 

And glory, how I flirted — oh! 

We used to set nights, Sam and me. 

Out on the porch. One night Jim passed, 

A-goin' in to bed. Says he, 

"Folkses, good-night." And jest as fast, 

'Fore I could think, he stooped, like that. 

And kissed me on the mouth, right flat ! 

Well, Sam he took his hat and flew 

Off in a rage — at me, not Jim. 
And me? Good lands! What could I do? 

I didn't care a snap for him. 
But Jim! If he'd 'a' slapped my face 
I wouldn't felt a worse disgrace. 

I cried, and then I said, "Who cares? " 
And then I cried again. But when 

I went indoors, there, on the stairs. 

That Jim was waitin'. Then, oh, then — 

Lucky 'twas dark — you'd think that he 

Would never get through kissin' me ! 

And so, as soon as my folks knew, 

They — sent him packing? I guess wo// 

Why, there he sets, in front of you. 
Readin' his paper. Yes, that's what ! 

Father, I've been a-tellin' her 

Jest how you didn't court me, sir ! 



THE POINT OF VIEW 43 



THE POINT OF VIEW 

She said: "I have given up cards and balls, 

And I shall not go out, unless 
To pay off my list of duty calls, 

Or to comfort and help distress. 

"In fact, I'm renouncing everything 

That is wicked and worldly, so 
This Lent will surely a blessing bring, 

For the pleasures I must forego!" 

He fretted and fumed and gazed apart 

And mournfully said, at last : 
"I suppose you won't give me a kiss, sweet- 
heart, 

Till the whole of Lent be past?" 

She gently looked in his face, at this. 

And he saw a reproachful tear. 
*' How strange men are ! Do you call a kiss 

Either wicked or worldly, dear?" 



44 THE OPEN BOOK 



WID THADY'S PIPE BESIDE THE DOOR 

WiD Thady's pipe beside the door, 
And Thady there, content and aisy — 

Could wife or woman ask for more 
Barrin' she wor a fool — or crazy? 

The queen could crave no blessin' higher 

Than her good man, in comfort, nigh her. 

Wid Thady's pipe beside the door, 

The hearth clean-swept, the praties bub- 
blin'— 
The childre playin' on the floor — 
. Ah, what could make me heart be throub- 
lin'? 
I'll smooth me hair an' take me knittin' — 
A body might as well be sittin'. 

Wid Thady's pipe beside the door — 
The friendly neighbors — passin', callin', 

With bits of talk and jokes galore — 
The quiet duskus round us fallin' ; 

It's far to God me heart is strayin', 

And many's the happy prayer I'm sayin'. 



THE POETS WIFE 45 



THE POET'S WIFE 

She brings her pretty knitting (bless her!) 
Or mystic threads for making laces, 

That by and by will serve to dress her 
In new and, no doubt, charming graces. 

She sits and rocks, her rocker chiming 

In measured cadence to my rhyming. 

Sometimes with eye that proudly glistens 
I read a sonnet I have written; 

She counts her stitches while she listens, 
Or pulls a thread to make it fit in — 

And, with her gaze intent upon it, 

Asks what they pay me for a sonnet. 

She little knows of rhyme or metre 

And cares still less, but asks me whether 

Chiffon and roses would look sweeter 
To trim her hat, than jet and feather. 

And while I'm "framing odes to Cupid" 

She tells me, "Poetry is stupid ! " 

But oh, her eyes ! . . . Her silken lashes — 
Her hair's sweet mutinies — the dimple 



46 THE OPEN BOOK 

In cheek and chin — the outward flashes 
Of inward smiles — her tranquil, simple, 
Entrancing air ! . . . Did she but know it- 
She is the reason I'm a poet ! 



WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY? 

What will people say? 

Well, this is too absurd ! 
Of what they say you never may 

Hear even one single word. 

What will people think? 

Now, this is even worse ! 
How can you get a wink, or blink, 

Of what their minds rehearse? 

Then, as for what they may 

Remark — let no tear fall; 
And as for what they think — well, say ! 

They never think, at all ! 



THE SIMPLE CITY FOLK 47 



THE SIMPLE CITY FOLK 

Oh, yes, we got the house right full; all city 

people, too, 
Payin' plank down fer everything — the best 

I ever knew; 
An' as fer clo'es, an' rings an' things, I swan, 

it dazzles me ! 
But, land sakes! it's surprisin' what simple 

folk they be. 

They're jes like children — they'll believe, why, 

any sort of chaff; 
'Twould do you good to watch 'em set, an 

laff, an' laff, an' laff; 
The minnit Pa appears they all begin to 

smile — an' when 
He starts to tell 'em jokes — you'd ought to 

see 'em laffin' then. 

An' my ! the wimmin come to me (their ways 

are kinder nice; 
Mothers, themselves, an' not so young) a- 

askin' my advice — 



48 THE OPEN BOOK 

Jest how I keep my eggs so fresh, an' what I 

put in dye, 
An' how I make my buttermilk, an' get my 

cheese to dry. 

The girls all want their fortchins told in tea- 
grounds — I declare 

You'd think I tell 'em gospel truth — they 
take it in, fer fair; 

An' them young men ! as innocent an' mild — 
I'd like to know 

However they grew up like that, an' keep on 
bein' sol 

The ol' men moon aroun' the farm, examinin' 

this and that, 
An' don't know plows from harrows, nor a 

beetle from a bat; 
An' yet it seems they're business men — but 

glory, I can't see 
However they could make their salt — sech 

simple folk they be! 



A NEEDED CHARITY 49 



A NEEDED CHARITY 

The keenest bliss, the sweetest pain, that 

lover's heart can borrow 
Meet in that moment when to-day is verging 

on to-morrow — 
When warning hand on dial-plate points 

fatefully and clearly, 
And all your vain pretenses checked, you 

know 'tis midnight nearly. 
Oh, hard the task, when feeling well that 

equally 'twill grieve her, 
To grip your courage in both hands and say 

good-night and leave her. 

Now what could be more frightful than, when 

life is at its sweetest. 
To goad and lash and flay yourself, to writhe 

in the completest 
Soul-sacrifice man e'er can know; no martyr 

could outdo it — 
Nor saint, in sackcloth clad, attempt a 

penance like unto it. 
4 



50 THE OPEN BOOK 

To tear yourself from paradise as Adam from 

his garden, 
But with this difference, that he had sinned 

past hope of pardon. 

To say good-night when clinging arms about 

your neck are twining, 
To turn away when coaxing eyes into your 

own are shining, 
To take one last sweet kiss and leave unkissed 

the rest you covet, 
And actually to drop her hand, as if you did 

not love it, 
To hear the cruel hall-door bang — I swear by 

all the sages 
'Tis savage, vile, uncivilized, barbaric, and 

outrageous ! 

Kind Christian thought has organized in 

every known direction 
Humane and gentle charities that offer sweet 

protection 
Not only to the human race, but unto beasts 

and fishes, 
To birds and insects of the air — how strange 

that no one wishes 
A nobler charity to found; no one a bent 

discovers 
To war against the wide-spread crime of 

cruelty to lovers ! 



CAR-FARE SI 



CAR-FARE 

Have you ever watched the warfare 

Of two women over car-fare? 

Each aflame with generous feeling, 

Depth of heart and purse revealing; 

Each inspired with gentle horror 

Lest the other should pay for her. 

But take note — the more insistent 

Of the combatants persistent, 

She whose hand most promptly snatches 

At her pocket-book's stiff catches. 

She who murmurs: "Don't be strange, dear, 

It's all right, I've got the change, dear!" 

She — though I am sad to say it — 

Always lets the other pay it ! 



52 THE OPEN BOOK 



HIS INTERPRETATION 

**0h give me time," she, trembling, said, 
"A little time, to think it over"; 

He smiled and kissed her drooping head, 
And yielded like a tender lover. 

"She's but a child," he mused that night, 
"Who shrinks from fate, afraid to test it; 

She really seemed quite in a fright." 
He little knew how near he'd guessed it. 

*' How shall I break with Jack ? " she moaned — 
"He's got my letters. Oh, good gracious! 

And Harry has my ring," she groaned — 
"He'll keep it, too — he's so audacious. 

"Was ever girl in such a fix? 

I must get rid of Will and Stephen, 
And George, and Archibald — that's six — 

And poor dear cousin Tom makes seven." 

As thus she grieved in accents wild, 

He said, while joy his features brightened, 
Yes — she is nothing but a child, 
And that is why she seemed so frightened." 



<{ 



A DIFFERENT TUNE 53 



A DIFFERENT TUNE 

The ball is up, the moon is bright, 

I muse alone — 
My thoughts drift backward through the night 

To nights long flown, 

When I amid the merry crowd 

Went forth to skate. 
Erect of back and fearless-browed. 

With charming Kate. 

What joy to hold her glove or muff — 

To rest or haste! 
What joy where friendly ice was rough 

To clasp her waist ! 

What joy to face the bracing wind. 

To curve and reel, 
And hear the ceaseless silvery grind 

Of skater's heel ! 

What joy — alas! my light burns low; 

I must to bed. 
Alone, through darkened halls I go 

With stealthy tread. 



54 THE OPEN BOOK 

The girl I used to skate with, she 
Sleeps sound and well. 

The baby — but who knows when he 
Will wake and yell? 

So, soft, by glimpses of the moon, 
Up-stairs I steal; 

With step far different from the tune 
Of skater's heel. 



A CONUNDRUM 

** Sweet Kitty, tell me why a kiss 
Is like creation? " Lost in mood, 

Perplext, she could not answer this: 
Or — would not, if she could. 

As one who had not much to fear. 

He grasped her hand, and nearer stood; 

"Because, 'tis made from nothing, dear. 
And — God knows it's good." 



A GIRL 55 



A GIRL 

Her eyes are lovely — I won't tell 
What hue their loveliness may show; 

Her braided hair becomes her well — 
In color like — but ah, no, no — 

That is my secret, — red or brown, 

It is the prettiest hair in town. 



She walks with such a dainty charm 
That whether she be short or tall, 

Of rounded limb, or sylph-like form, 
Her figure suits me — that is all ; 

Nor do I choose the world to know 

If silk her gown, or calico. 



My precious girl is worth her weight, 
Not in rough gold, but diamonds fine — 

And whether that be small, or great, 
I leave the reader to divine. 

Ask me to gauge her solid worth. 

She would outweigh the whole round earth. 



56 THE OPEN BOOK 

To rhyme her praise is such delight, 
That I must keep it to myself, 

Lest one should better verses write, 
And lay me gently on the shelf. 

I am not jealous, but, you see, 

This charming girl — belongs to me. 



A COGITATION 

The frost-swept marshes seem to sleep. 

The listless streams lie still and numb, 
The winds a charmed silence keep. 

The hills are mute, the woods are dumb; 
But Nature wears a thoughtful frown 

As of surprise with anger blent 
(As one will cast one's eyelids down 
In sudden study, deep and brown, 

When met by problem strange, and bent 

On finding out just what is meant). 
So Nature evidently sighs 

O'er some deep riddle, pondered well — 
I think it must be at the lies 

That disappointed sportsmen tell. 



A SKETCH 57 



A SKETCH 

She sketched and painted, up and down the 
river. 

I rowed the boat 
Where willows dip, and deepening shadows 
quiver. 

And lilies float. 
ClifE, cottage, sail, and bridge, and sea-sands 
yellow 

Her studies were — 
And, oh, I thought myself a lucky fellow, 
Adrift — with her! 

Long hours, with oars at rest, I sat and waited; 

She painted on. 
With now and then a smile — absorbed, 
elated — 

Till, daylight gone, 
She'd raise her eyes reluctantly, and murmur 

"Oh, must we go? " 
And I — I'd only plant my feet the firmer, 

And start to row. 



58 THE OPEN BOOK 

Last night v/e met. Of art, she prattled 
sweetly; 

Of what she'd done 
In way of summer work, accomplished neatly ; 

Of praises won ; 
But, when I shyly dared my part to mention, 

As oarsman true, 
She vaguely smiled, and said, with inatten- 
tion — 

**0h— wasit^'ow?" 



AS IT SHOULD BE 

"I LOVE you," he said, '*! love you — 
Believe me," he warmly cried, 

** There is none I would place above you! " 
She gazed at him tranquil-eyed. 

"I love you" — again he uttered 

The words, with a final air — 
While she, quite unmoved, unfluttered, 

Continued her steadfast stare. 

Puzzled and vexed he wondered 

What she was staring at — 
Nor dreamed that she mutely pondered, 

"Do you think I'm surprised at that? " 



A WOMAN'S SORROW 59 



A WOMAN'S SORROW 

She read the page with a mournful eye. 

"Oh, heart," she said, "it is strange! 
I could weep when I think how man's wild love 

Can silently cool, and change ! 

**To look at Jack's letters of long ago! 

'My angel,' 'my love,' 'my own,' 
'The light of my dreams,' 'my lovely one *; 

But this, to-day, is his tone: 

"'Dear wife: O. K., and the trunk has come; 

Tell Williams I'll telegraph; 
He might have managed the thing himself 

If he hadn't been such a calf. 

'"I'm here for a week, at the Wilmington-r- 

Enough to eat — of the kind; 
Look under the bureau, some time, dear, 

For that stud that I couldn't find. 

"'I've got an earache — confounded draft 
On the train. You can ask Old Ray 

To cash your checks for you. Don't forget 
To send me my flannels. — J.' " 



6o THE OPEN BOOK 

She dropped a tear as she took her pen, 
Yet these were the words she wrote: 

*'Dear Hubby, I told you you'd get your 
death 
Without your big overcoat. 

"The man for the carpets came to-day; 

I haven't seen Williams since; 
Dear mother arrived last night — to stay — 

And we're doing up jelly (quince). 

"Take care of your money, for goodness* sake ! 

The check was a perfect boon; 
Your flannels? N. G. Get some new ones, 
dear; 

The baby is well. Write soon." 

She shook her head as she traced his name, 
And sealed her letter with sighs: 

" It is hard for a woman to understand 
How soon man's sentiment dies." 



A FAIR SINNER 6i 



A FAIR SINNER 

His conscience gave him many a twinge 

And led him many a dance, 
Recalling thoughts that made him cringe 

Before her earnest glance; 
Her pure eyes caused his soul to quake 
While he confession longed to make. 

He yearned to empty out his heart 

And firmly tell her all, 
Then, bravely make a clean new start. 

Resolved no more to fall. 
But, as he mused, she murmiu*ed, "Dear, 
I've a confession you must hear." 

"You!" he exclaimed. Her eyes were wet, 

She hid her face. " 'Tis true: 
Listen ... I smoked a cigarette 

Once, with a man I knew; 
It made me sick and — so did he. 
Speak — tell me — can you pardon me? " 

He chuckled inwardly, but made 
His face surprised and sad. 



62 THE OPEN BOOK 

"I had a tale to tell," he said, 

"Of errors, quite as bad; 
But now, I can't confess to you, 
Since you, dear, are a sinner too. 



WHAT GLADYS SAID 

Said Gladys with a smile of bright disdain 
(The season is her first; she knows not yet 

The sweet and bitter uses of her reign, 
The perils in her frowns and dimples set) ; 

Said Gladys (and I heard her little foot 
Beat its impatience on the favored ground. 

The while I longed to button up that boot 
With kisses from its toe to ankle round) ; 

Said Gladys (and I listened, who would not? 

Watching those lips that might a saint be- 
guile)— 
What did she say? Really, I can't tell what — 

I'm only certain that I saw her smile. 



ONE SUMMER 63 



ONE SUMMER 

The nights were calm, the days were splendid ; 

We roamed the woodlands, side by side — 
When sunset's dream with moonlight blended, 

We floated out, across the tide — 
We sang together, gently keeping 
Time to the oars' slow rhythmic beating. 

We were the only two, that season, 
Who came to board — Fate willed it so, 

For a distinctly special reason 

That later on we learned to know, — 

And how we hoped that none would find us 

Where our sweet solitude enshrined us! 

The house and grounds alike were spacious, 
And she and I — we owned it all. 

We reveled in the thought ! Good gracious, 
How we enjoyed the quiet hall, 

The shadowed porch, the parlor lonely, 

The dinners served for us — us only! 

Ah, Fate Life's lesson strangely orders, 
For now in thinking of what was 



64 THE OPEN BOOK 

I wish there had been other boarders, 

Because — alas! ah, yes, because 
We've been — ^to write it makes me wince — 
Boarding together, ever since! 



'TWIXT CUP AND LIP 

** There's many a slip 
'Twixt cup and lip" — 

The proverb's made of sterling stuff; 
But when we think 
How much men drink. 

We find there are not slips enough ! 



YES, OR NO? 65 



YES, OR NO? 

The big barn doors stood open wide 
And a fiddler sat on either side; 
Red lanterns hung on the beams a score 
And lighted the barn from roof to floor, 
The rough-board walls and the piled-up hay, 
The girls' sweet faces and ribbons gay, 
And the boys who had pulled off their coats 
to stay 
And dance it out till the morning. 

How light they pattered, the nimble feet, 
While clapping palms to the music beat. 
And now and then, through the dizzy whirl 
Rang a merry shriek as some breathless girl 
Was swung by her partner off the ground 
In the clasp of his arm round, round, and 

round ; 
The hills laughed back to the laughing sound, 
Ah ! many a time ere the morning. 

I sat in a corner against the hay. 
I had brought her there, but that didn't say 
I might fetch her back again; so I sat 
And I held her shawl — oh, I clung to that ! 



66 THE OPEN BOOK 

I couldn't dance and I wouldn't try, 
But as she glided and slided by 
With the other fellows, I swore that I 
Should take her home in the morning. 

Well, so when the dawn broke east and west 
And the last dance ended — the last and best — 
I walked right over. It seemed the noise 
Stopped still of a sudden ; the girls and boys 
Looked — smiling, waiting — I didn't fall. 
But I straightened myself and stood up tall 
And said, "When you're ready — well, here's 
your shawl, 
And we'll tell the folks good-morning." 

And she — God bless her — (I saw a smile 
In her beautiful, sleepy eyes the while) 
She said, "All right! " — not another word — 
But a sweeter by man was never heard. 
The joy of it made me chill and pale 
As she took her bonnet down from a nail 
And searched about for her missing veil 
In the growing light of the morning. 

And oh, to think of that lonely walk 
Through the dim, gray fields, and our foolish 

talk, 
And the words I said ere her noisy gate 
Had closed between us like bars of fate ! 



EXPLAINED 67 

But whether my heart beat high or low 
What matters now? 'Tis so long ago 
Since she whispered that "yes" — or was it 
"no"? 
In the still, soft dawn of the morning. 



EXPLAINED 

"LoLiTA, do you love me, dear? " 
I asked her in the merest joke; 

While o'er her cheek, so sweetly near, 
A flush of sudden rapture broke. 

She caught me in a quick embrace 

And held me, clinging close and warm. 

While her soft kisses swept my face 
Like whirling rose leaves in a storm. 

I laughed aloud, amused, but she, 

Half sobbing, kissed me more and more — 

"Outrageous conduct? " Well, you see 
The girl's quite young — she's only four. 



68 THE OPEN BOOK 



THE FATAL TOPIC 

She talked of poetry. Her voice 
Sank to a cadence soft and low, 

The while she murmured in his ear 
Some rhymes she'd written, years ago. 

She talked of music, with her hands 

Astray among the ivory keys, 
Playing a rippling ''gondolied" 

That brought his soul upon its knees. 

She talked of art. Her blue eyes shone, 
Her fair cheek flushed, and, as he sat. 

He thought: *'By Jove! what pictured face 
Could better be worth looking at? " 

She talked of friendship, till he felt 

That friendship was man's greatest good; 

And when she quoted Emerson, 
He looked as if he understood. 

She talked of love. The hour was late. 
It may have been because of that — 

But one thing certain is, that when 
She talked of love, he — took his hat! 



ROSES 69 



ROSES 
The Plaint of the Belle 

I DREAD the very sight of them; 

My tired eye closes 
At glimpse of blush, or bud, or stem, 

Of proffered roses. 

To sniff them all, I'd need, at least, 

A dozen noses — 
I'm sure my nostrils have increased 

From smelling roses. 

For too much of a good thing, mark. 

One's mind disposes 
To base ingratitude ; then, hark — 

Don't send me roses 1 

I know this edict seems unkind — 

It so forecloses 
The satisfaction that men find 

In buying roses. 



70 THE OPEN BOOK 

Why can't they guess that woman needs, 

For all her poses, 
Gloves, laces, slippers, fans, and beads, 

Far more than roses? 

Ah, no — ^my future's door ajar 

But this discloses, — 
More men, who struggle from afar 

To bring me roses ! 



TWO VIEWS OF IT 

While smoking gravely with his friend 
These confidences he let fall : 

*"Tis tempting, but I must haul up; 
Noblesse oblige, confound it all ! 

"Poor girl! No, no — it will not do. 

My slightest glance she trembles at — 
She loves me madly. Nothing else 

Will scare a fellow off like that! " 

While she unto her friend remarked : 
"He really bores me, but you know 

One must be courteous, and besides. 
The poor dear boy, he loves me so! " 



A SEA-SIDE HERMIT 71 



A SEA-SIDE HERMIT 

He said: "I'll away to some lonely shore 
Where billows broaden and sea-tides roar; 
I'll go and forget the season's maze 
Of dinners, dances, reception-days. 
Ah, yes; I'll find me some desert scene, 
Where the footstep of woman has never been." 
He roamed to a fishing village quaint, 
Where he dwelt, like an anchorite or saint, 
In a moss-grown cottage, all by himself, 
Under a huge rock's towering shelf. 
Here he strolled alone on a wide bright beach 
That stretched as far as the eye could reach. 

There were fifteen girls at the Surf hotel 
Who looked through a spy-glass long and well. 
And who clapped their hands with abandoned 

vim 
The day that the spy-glass sighted him ! 
On the following m^orn, when this hermit fared 
Forth from his hut, how he stared and glared 
At the sun-umbrellas of white and red 
Over that shining sand-stretch spread; 
Where, in groups of two and in groups of three 
Were girls as pretty as girls could be. 



72 THE OPEN BOOK 

** What's this? " he cried. " Do I understand 
I'm the only man on this wide sea-strand? 
Ha! I'll foil them yet." And he turned him 

round 
And back to his hut with a single bound. 

Alas! alas! 'twas of small avail, 
The firm resolve of this stern young male; 
For he came back late to the busy town 
From his hut on the sea-sands, rough and 

brown, 
Where the steep rocks rise and the billow 

curls, 
Engaged to ten of those fifteen girls. 



YEARS OF DISCRETION 

Years of discretion surely are 

Life's full and sweet completion; 
But wilful Fate delights to mar, 
For, when we reach them, there's a jar- 
The years are more apparent, far, 
Than the discretion ! 



THE POSTMAN 73 



THE POSTMAN 

St. Valentine's Day 

How fast the postman goes 
Laden with joys and woes 

Along the street ! 
Young eyes watch with delight; 
Eyes, not so young, with quite 

As quick pulse-beat. 

He carries painted hearts 
Transfixed with harmless darts; 

Live hearts, too, hide, 
Stowed in his swinging bag. 
And doubtless make it wag 

From side to side. 

Here, prayer of parted friends 
And shaft that malice sends 

Elbow for space; 
The pang that hurts and stings, 
The balm that healing brings. 

Run equal race. 



74 THE OPEN BOOK 

A scentless rose, a verse 
That hardly could be worse, 

A soul's despair, 
A tear blot, and a jest, 
A happy love confessed, 

A laugh, a prayer! 

Is he a man or elf? 
Pandora's box itself 

Could scarce send wide 
Such motley crowd and fleet, 
Save that gifts fair and sweet 

Its ills divide 1 

Bird-like, he mounts and swoops 
Swift up and down the stoops; 

He's drawing near. 
Though I may moralize, 
I, too, have waiting eyes — 

Oh, please stop here I 



A PESSIMISTIC REVERY 75 



A PESSIMISTIC REVERY 

I'd like to take a journey hence 
To other worlds, for here, in fact, 

Nature seems short of common sense 
And painfully devoid of tact. 

Her loves and griefs, her joys and pains, 
Mix up in such a reckless way 

That which the losses are, or gains. 
No reasoning mind can clearly say. 

The things she does and leaves undone, 
Her curious use of good and bad. 

Would really be no end of fun — 
Only it happens to be sad. 

The pains and evils she contrives 
Appear to make her feel elate; 

And then, her spite at human lives 
Is something strange to contemplate. 

That gravitation's hideous laws 

Should earth's fair atmosphere disgrace, 
And yet the earth be safe because 

'Tis poised aloft in airy space; 



76 THE OPEN BOOK 

That half our life is given to sleep; 

That not to eat is certain death, 
And that alive we cannot keep 

Without the constant aid of breath; 

Why, these facts so outrageous seem 
That when I ponder them I shake 

Myself and say, "This is a dream; 
I surely cannot be awake! " 

Alas ! I am. My grief is this, 
That I'm too wide awake by far, 

And hence my yearning project is 
To seek some other sphere or star. 

But, then, on second thought, perhaps 
I'd better stay and calmly wait. 

Because when years enough elapse 
I'll have to go at any rate. 



A BY-GONE JOY 77 



A BY-GONE JOY 

There was a joy we used to know, 

A joy that only came in spring, 
With leaves that burst, and flowers that 
blow — 

In fact, with every beauteous thing — 
Also, with adjuncts less sublime; 

Yet, how we reveled in the day 
That brought, with ashes, dust, and grime, 

A "moving" on the first of May. 

How sweet to lunch from crate and box; 

What bliss to be allowed to bear 
Pillows, brooms, vases, lamps, and clocks. 

And watch them packed in — "anywhere.'* 
To boyish hearts, what wild delight 

To ride upon the load — yet more, 
Methinks, the crowning joy, at night, 

To sleep in beds upon the floor. 

Ah, nothing now of this we greet. 

We see an auto van — a few 
Stout ropes — some packing boxes neat — 

A quiet, giant man or two; 



78 THE OPEN BOOK 

By trolley car our transit's made 
To seek the new abode, and lo ! 

Curtains are hung and carpets laid, 
And table spread, and range aglow. 

I know not how it came about. 

This change — I only know 'tis here; 
More comfort, yes, beyond a doubt; 

Less work, less weariness, more cheer. 
But ah ! they dream not what they miss, 

Of reckless fun and frolic gay, 
Who never knew the old-time bliss — 

A "moving" on the first of May! 



THE WHOLE STORY 

They met and bowed, and moved apart- 
They met, and danced, and yet 

Again they met, and talked and walked,- 
And afterwards, they met, 

And met, and met, and met — and then. 

They met — and did not part again ! 



LOVE'S HOUR 79 



LOVE'S HOUR 

Love cried to Life: "Sweetheart, take hands 
with me — 
Leave strife and traffic, toil and busy mart, 

Swift wheels on land, deep laden ships on sea — 
Thou know'st not yet how fair, how great 
thou art, 

Till I have kissed and crowned thy kingly 
head — 

Thou canst not know, " — Love, in sweet plead- 
ing, said. 

And Life looked, smiling, but with anxious 

brow, 
As one through tears might gaze at some 

soft flower. 
"Thou child of sun and dew, what sayest 

thou? 
I have no time for thee, save one brief hour." 
Then Love, too, smiled, with fond eyes as 

before — 
"One hour, sweetheart? ... I have not 

asked for more!" 



8o THE OPEN BOOK 



PEGGY 

Peggy ! Who wrought this saucy name 

From stately Margaret? 
Methinks, in laughter's chime it came, 

To reckless music set. 
Who was the lover, knave or poet, 
That dared first in this guise to show it? 

Peggy ! The sound is sweet and odd, 
Like quaint, wild note of bird. 

Or quick foot dancing on a sod; 
Yet nothing ever heard 

Quite echoes Peggy. Who could breathe it 

And not in graceful rhythm wreathe it? 

Peggy ! Its syllables transform 
Proud Margaret's queenly grace 

To milkmaid beauty, wild and warm, 
Of sun-kissed brow and face. 

In green Arcadian lanes coquetting 

With rustic swains, her path besetting. 

Peggy! But of one thing I'm sure: 
A great deal's in a name! 



HER PUZZLING WAYS 8l 

Margaret had never proved the lure 

That Peggy swift became. 
I knew at once Love could not err in 
The blindest pathway he saw her in ! 



HER PUZZLING WAYS 

She smiled and smiled and smiled and smiled, 

And sometimes for a change, 
She laughed and laughed and laughed — he 
thought 

Her ways were rather strange ! 

But when he asked her for her hand 

Into his own it crept, 
With glad response, and then she wept 

And wept — and wept, and wept ! 



82 THE OPEN BOOK 



BLUE EYES AND BROWN 
I ^ 

Blue eyes ! A mountain stream 

Is not more blue; 
She trifles with her cream 

As women do 
And I, — I smoke and dream, 

Contented, too. 

II 

She wears my wedding ring. 

She is my own; 
Yet swift, on sudden wing 

My thought has flown 
Back, where wild roses cling 

And hay is mown. 

Ill 

The slowly-brightening moon 
(How beats my heart !) 

Rises, too fair — too soon; 
They have no art 

To lengthen time's scant boon, 
Who kiss and part. 



BLUE EYES AND BROWN 83 

IV 

I kissed her mouth and hair — 

Her lids, that fell 
Drowned in quick tears, that bear 

The heart's farewell. 
Of love's last sweet despair 

What tongue can tell? 

V 

Blue eyes ! Alas, alas, 

For dear brown eyes, 
For roses in the grass 

And moonlit skies, 
For time beloved that was, 

And sad good-byes! 

VI 

Alas ! while through the haze 

Of my cigar 
Blue eyes send tranquil rays, 

My heart, afar. 
Wanders a wild-rose maze, 

Where brown eyes are. 

AFTERTHOUGHT 

But if — suppose it true — 

These eyes so near 
Were brown instead of blue, 

Warm, more than clear, 



84 THE OPEN BOOK 

Perhaps — who knows? — my sighs 
Might still float down 

The past, in search of eyes 
That were not brown! 



SMILES VS. TEARS 

When Clytie laughs at me, as oft she doth, 
I set myself to use whatever wile 

Her merry mood may alter, nothing loth 
To see repentant tears put out her smile. 

But, when she weeps, as eagerly I try 

To soothe her pain, her dear grief to beguile; 

And know not which is sweeter, no, not I, 
Her smile in tears, or tears within her smile. 



"IT'* 85 



Give me an Ignoratnus bold — 

The densest of his kind ; 
With him I'll sweet communion hold, 

Meet with him, mind to mind. 

Let me clasp the hand of that woman great 

Who hasn't a word to spare ; 
No views, nor opinions wise, to prate 

On anything whatsoe'er. 

Hither and yonder I bend my brow. 

In hope that I yet may hit 
On the chance of meeting, somewhere, some- 
how, 

A being who is not "IT"! 

Speak not of *'up to date" to me, 

''Aujait;' "good form," or "in touch"; 

I long for nothing except to flee 

From the people who know so much ! 



86 THE OPEN BOOK 



THE EASTER GIRL 

The Easter girl ! Beneath the skies 
There's nothing like unto her; 

The sun that shines, the breeze that sighs, 
Both seem inclined to woo her; 

And — there are others, — but she's less 

Responsive to their willingness. 

The Easter girl ! Her hat is made 

Of various sorts of splendor ; 
But, bright or dark, or gay or staid, 

Be sure the eyes are tender 
That 'neath the brim, or flat or curled, 
Look sweet good-will, to all the world. 

The Easter girl ! Yes, she is here — 

Best of all Easter blessings; 
Sweet contradiction, warm, sincere, 

Of Lenten time repressings. 
A resurrection is her face 
Of Earth's delight, and Heaven's grace. 

Dear Easter girl! I sing your lay, 
Child of bright tears and laughter, 



A USEFUL BLIZZARD 87 

Who know not that you lead the way — 

The whole world follows after; 
Or if you know, have you, then, guessed 
That I, too, follow with the rest? 



A USEFUL BLIZZARD 

A BLIZZARD one day went out to play; 

He raced and he romped and ran 
And howled and hustled and made things gay, 

As only a Blizzard can. 

He did all the harm he conveniently could, 
And he did it with zeal and vim; 

But he did one thing that was great and good 
And the good lived after him. 

He helped full many a hostess out — 
And lightened her soul of dread; 

For he gave people something to talk about — 
All hail to his hoary head! 



88 THE OPEN BOOK 



REFUSED 

"No, no," she said, and firmly spoke; 

She reasoned with him like a mother, 
And showed why he should be content 

To let her love him as a brother. 

She pictured how the marriage state 
Was one of trouble and confusion; 

How love, at best, is but a snare, 
And plainly sent for man's delusion. 

He bowed his head before her flow 
Of eloquence, nor strove to turn it, 

But meekly hinted that he would 

The lesson take, and strive to learn it. 

** Farewell. I go beyond the sea — 

Since you refuse, no more I'll press you. 

Kind Time," he sighed, "may heal my pain. 
Forgive — forget me, and — God bless you." 

She faltered, stared — then tossed her head. 

"I see it will not greatly grieve you; 
You can't have loved me much," she said, 

"And yet, indeed, I did believe you. 



THE QUEST OF THE PILGRIMS 89 

''Besides," — with this her fair cheek gained 
The color his was slowly losing — 

"I only said no — once, or twice, 
And — women don't call that refusing." 



THE QUEST OF THE PILGRIMS 

One by one through the city street 

In sorrowful search we go; 
At curbs and crossings we sometimes meet 

With looks of infinite woe. 

For the shadow of fate stalks close behind, 

And a will-o'-the-wisp before, 
As sadly onward our way we wind 

Like beggars from door to door. 

Oh, happy birds, if we could but know 
Your blithesome and merry quest ! 

Out of the free four winds that blow 
To fashion a home-like nest. 

Alas ! we are only wretched men, 

Seeking by night and day 
Some place of shelter as round again 

Comes the pitiless first of May. 



90 THE OPEN BOOK 



THE HAPPIEST TIME 

Whenever life's song is out of rhyme 
And fate and my plans won't thrive, 

Then I love to muse on that glorious time — 
The time when I wasn't alive. 

Those dear old days ! How they haunt me yet 
With dreams of content and bliss; 

When there wasn't a hurt I could possibly get, 
Nor a joy I could lose nor miss. 

When I let the years and the ages flee 

In the most uncounted way, 
And never looked in the glass to see 

If my hair were growing gray. 

What wonder that still I love to speak 
Of this kingdom grand and free, 

That vanished away at the first wild shriek 
Of the infant known as me? 

They may prate of the wondrous things that 
are. 

Which existence alone can give; 
But I know that my happiest days, by far, 

Were the days when I didn't live. 



A CLEVER MAN 91 

Nor would I compare the pleasures shown 

In the present's frivolous scene 
With the endless raptures that were no^ known, 

The bliss that has never been. 

I don't care a jot how fortune flows 

To the men on each side of me; 
For the fellows I envy the most are those 

Who have not begun to be. 



A CLEVER MAN 

"You must be mine — you must be mine"; 

He used the words best known to wooers, 
In ardent tones, — but, all the same, 

He never said: "I must be yours! " 



92 THE OPEN BOOK 



TWO PHANTOMS 

A PHANTOM but newly dead was in search 

Of his bearings, to get them right, 
And was hovering doubtfully over a church 

When another ghost came in sight; 
He nodded grimly, and nearer drew. 

While the preacher's ringing tone 
Rang clearly the sound of sobbing through 

To the ghosts in the high ozone. 

Said the new-made ghost, in a reverent tone, 

As he thoughtfully glanced below: 
" It seems some soul from his friends has gone 

Whose like they shall never know; 
Of angel grace he lacked naught save the 
wings. 

So nobly his virtues ran." 
Said the other ghost — ^who was used to such 
things — 

"They are talking of you, old man." 

*'0f me?" cried the phantom. **Can it be 

I was such a soul, so great, 
So true and noble — so strong and free? 

Have I learned it, alas, too late? 



AWAY WITH THEM I 93 

I will hie me back to the earth, and strive — " 

"Hie nothing," the other said; 
"The reason they're praising you, man alive, 

Is — ^just because you are dead! " 



AWAY WITH THEM! 

Away with charms that tempt in vain! 
Green shadowy wood, and winding lane; 
Away with meads and fragrant leas, 
With butterflies and birds and bees! 
Away with her I love, whose eyes 
Draw from me my sad heart in sighs ! 
Away with her sweet wiles ! I say, 
With all these things, away, away! 
Away with them! — because, you see, 
Away with them, I'd like to be! 



94 THE OPEN BOOK 



'TIS TIME TO RISE 

When cats forsake the backyard fence, 
And drowsy maid in darkness dense 
Doth scratch a match to view the clock; 
When milkman, taking in the block. 
Doth morning bottles briskly clink 
Of cream and milk; with him we think 
We ought to rise. 

When dimly white the window gleams. 
And most familiar object seems 
Unlike itself; when faint and far 
We hearken the first down-town car; 
When most we hate the thought of ''biz," 
This, this, alas ! we feel this is 
The time to rise. 

When sunlight reddens on the floor, 
And carrier swift at basement door 
The morning paper gayly flings; 
When gently stir the breakfast things; 
When we to spring from slumber vow 
And — fall asleep, — we know that now 
'Tis time to rise! 



A STUDY 95 



A STUDY 

She's full of tact — she knows just what 

To say, and when to say it ; 
Whatever part falls to her lot, 

She's well equipped to play it. 
Your smiles are mirrored on her face, 

Your sighs are heard, and heeded; 
And tears — the tears that leave no trace — 

Are promptly yours, when needed. 

She has soft looks for Tom and Dick, 

Likewise for scapegrace Harry; 
Were she confronted with Old Nick, 

Methinks she'd mildly tarry 
To say a word of soothing praise — 

And e'en that stern saint, Peter, 
Could scarce escape her wiling ways 

If he, by chance, shoiild meet her! 

Her mind's alert your thought to grasp. 

Practical, or esthetic; 
Her hand is ready with a clasp, 

Tenderly sympathetic; 
She's full of tact — in word and act 

Well doth such grace become her; 
But, she's so full of tact, in fact — 

That — all the men fly from her! 



96 THE OPEN BOOK 



THE VANQUISHED MAN 

Who speaks of freedom's joy to me 

In accents brave? 
Ah, let who will, or can, be free; 

I am a slave ! 

No chains my limbs or body fret 
With twist and twinge — 

No dungeon walls are 'round me set; 
And yet I cringe; 

I bend, I bow, I sneak, I slink, 

I crawl and creep; 
I scarcely ever get a wink 

Of quiet sleep. 

Above my breath I dare not speak; 

Upstairs I steal. 
Fearful my shoes might chance to squeak 

Or door-hinge squeal. 

You wonder why my manhood bows 

Thus basely low? 
There's a new baby in the house — 

NoWy do you know? 



A HOPELESS CASE 97 



A HOPELESS CASE 

"Give me a kiss," she pleading said. 

He heard, unmoved, her ardent suing, 
Alt ho' to her he was not wed — 

Nor had he even come a-wooing. 

*'Give me a kiss," her lips in shape 

To tempt a saint, did thus beseech him, 

While he seemed striving to escape 

To some place, where she could not reach 
him. 

** Give me a kiss, just one, I pray." 
Her fond insistence ill did serve her. 

He looked askance, and turned away, 
Scared and disgusted at her fervor. 

"Give me a kiss." Each coaxing word 

Seemed more and more to fright and pain 
him, 

Because — he was her brand-new bird. 
And she was starting in to train him. 



98 THE OPEN BOOK 



TWO INVITATIONS 
May writes: 

Dear Helen, you must surely come, the 

season is so gay. 
I'll tell you now just what to bring, and then 

of course you may 
Make such additions as seem fit. I hope you'll 

come to stay. 

Well, dear, to be effective here, where color is 

the rage, 
One should adopt some quiet tint; soft gray 

would suit your age — 
I mean your youth; but then the shade is 

difficult to gauge. 

I've chosen black, and stick to it. Just once 

I thought I'd dare 
A change. I wore flame-color, and you 

should have seen them stare. 
Especially the men. Of course my arms and 

neck were bare. 



TWO INVITATIONS 99 

Still, as I said, the quieter the dress the more 

it makes 
One seem a contrast to the throng, and that's 

the thing that takes; 
And that's just what we're playing for — our 

very highest stakes. 



But bring your nicest underwear. These 

rocks are very steep, 
And sometimes, in the climbing, one is apt to 

jump and leap; 
So have your flouncings all of lace and extra 

fine and deep. 



Be lavish, dear, in parasols, as brilliant as you 

choose. 
They make the picture's setting, and shine 

out against the blues 
And grays of ocean background — if one the 

term can use. 



The place is very full this year; the faces all 

seem new. 
The men are simply splendid, and there's 

plenty of them, too. 
I know that is the best inducement I can offer 

you. 



100 THE OPEN BOOK 

So come; we'll have no end of fun. My Jack 

is still away. 
He's camping out at Wildwood glen, and says 

he'll write to-day 
To ask your Frank to join him. Won't that 

be lovely? May. 

Jack writes: 

Dear boy, come up and stretch yourself — 
come up and breathe some air. 

Get out of that infernal rut. It makes a 
fellow swear 

To think what lives we live all year, penned 
in the city there. 

I've lots of things to tell you, but I can't keep 

on the track; 
There's too much world, and sky, and breeze — 

come up and take a whack. 
And bring the oldest togs you have — the very 

oldest. Jack. 



WHAT SHE DID NOT SAY loi 



WHAT SHE DID NOT SAY 

*'I WISH to tell you," she firmly said, 

"Yes, once for all" — here she caught his 
eye — 

** When faith is ended and hope is dead" — 
She looked as if she would like to cry. 

** Whatever of love — but that time is past, 
That dream is over. You needn't speak, 

The bitter truth you must know at last ; 
Oh! I will be strong though I have been 
weak. 

"But now that you plainly understand" — 

Her soft voice faltered, he drew more near — 
"I need say no more" — here he caught her 
hand, 
And the word he murmured was simply 
"Dear!" 

And then, as a loving woman should. 

She wept on his heart in the old sweet way, 

And she said no more, but he understood, 
Ah ! better far, what she did not say. 



I02 THE OPEN BOOK 



HER TYRANT MASTER 

With cheeks aglow from kisses of the frost, 
Blue laughing eyes, and shining hair, wind- 
tossed. 
She comes in breathless, bright, a little late. 
Fair as a dream, but pitiless as Pate. 

She struggles with her rubbers on the mat. 
Lays by her jacket and hangs up her hat. 
Pulls off her gloves, and sweetly thoughtful 

stands 
Beside the register, to warm her hands. 

I look up, at her soft *'good morning"; then 
I mumble "morning," and lay down my pen. 
And then her task begins, and, like a Turk, 
I keep her — how remorselessly — at work ! 

She's my typewriter girl, and I'm her "boss"; 
I hear her tell the bookkeeper I'm "cross," 
And ' ' hard to please. ' ' Great Scott ! that isn't 

it. 
If she could only know how hard I'm hit ! 

Oh, yes, I scold you, dear; I nag and yell; 
Only, because you please me far too well; 
Also, because I'd like to knock in two 
The tall young fellow who walks home with 
you. 



THE FALSE ORACLE 103 



THE FALSE ORACLE 

She picked a little daisy flower 

With fringe of snow and heart of gold, 

All pure without, and warm within, 
And stood to have her fortune told. 

**He loves me, " low, she musing said. 
And plucked the border, leaf by leaf, 

"A little — too much — not at all — 
With fullest heart, beyond belief." 

"A little— too much— not at all," 
So rang the changes o'er and o'er; 

The tiny leaflets fluttered down 

And strewed the meadow's grassy floor. 

*'A little — too much — not at all — 
With fullest heart." Oh, magic brief! 

Ah, foolish task, to measure out 
Love's value, on a daisy leaf. 

For as she plucked the latest left, 
With "not at all, " I heard her say, 

**Ah, much you know, you silly flower — 
He'll love me till his dying day." 



104 THE OPEN BOOK 



AT DAWN 

I LOVE the first faint tender thrill 

Of light that tints the east, and makes 

A silvery ribbon of the rill 

Unwound among its tangled brakes. 

I love the robin's matin note 

That, stirring in his sleep, he sings 

Half on the air, half in his throat, 
And muffled half, beneath his wings. 

I love the violet's waking eye — 
The wayside daisy's star-like face- 



The sweet-briar, blushing at the sky — 
The dew-drenched clover's generous grace. 

I revel most at this strange hour. 

In Nature's charm, mysterious, deep; 

This is the time I feel her power 

Because, thank goodness, I'm asleep. 



MULTIPLICATION 105 



MULTIPLICATION 

I CRAVED a kiss with prayer and sigh, 
Long, long I craved, and long in vain; 
At length, in pity for my pain, 

The gift she granted, tenderly. 

I can not tell the reason why 

This grace, alas! should prove my bane; 
For now, still far more hungrily, 
I'm wishing day and night that I 

Could kiss her fifty times again. 



A FREE SLAVE 

She said — he was her lover — 
* ' I would not hold you — no — 

If once the dream seemed over — 
If once you wished to go — 

"You're free — at any season — 
At any moment — free! " 

*'But that is just the reason 
You hold me fast," said he. 



io6 THE OPEN BOOK 



THE MAIDEN'S AIM 

He pelted her neatly, from head to feet, 
With snowballs soft and with snowballs fleet. 

And seemed to think it no end of fun; 
While she was busy preparing one. 

Rolling, pounding it hard and sound. 

With snow scooped up from the fleecy ground. 

Then aimed she her missile fair and clear; 
He did not dodge, for he did not fear, 

But calmly waited to see it fly, 
And far from its target wildly shy. 

When, whack ! on the side of his smiling face 
He caught it, right in the very place 

She had meant to paste it. By Jove, and Mars, 
And Jupiter Ammon, but he saw stars! 

For her brother, a baseball pitcher tall. 
Had taught and trained her to throw a ball. 



A GRADUATE 107 

And this gay young fellow, who laughed with 

glee, 
While bravely awaiting her onslaught, he 

Was speedily brought to understand 

How the clinging, gentle, and trusting hand 

That rocks the cradle, plain truth to tell, 
Can do some other things quite as well ! 



A GRADUATE 

Practice, they say, makes perfect in each art; 

The heart, then, truly 
In Cupid's lore, if studious from the start. 

Must progress duly. 

Ergo — the fact that I have loved before. 

Proves only, now, dear, 
That I can love you better far, and more 

By knowing how, dear. 



ON THE YACHT 

Said Dick, "This sea breeze has one fault- 
It makes my whiskers taste of salt." 

Said pretty Lil, who near him sat, 
''Yes, doesn't it? / noticed that." 



lo8 THE OPEN BOOK 



SILENCE 

She has a sweet, distracting way 
Of saying nothing, which, I swear, 

A dearer meaning can convey, 

Than uttered words could ever dare. 

Her eyes their silken fringes raise, 
A dimple comes in either cheek; 

Her ripe lips part, and as you gaze 

You'd really think you heard her speak. 

You may at first be vexed by this, 
But you'll discover day by day 

Her silence much more charming is 
Than anything she finds to say. 



THE OUTLOOK 

He begs me to marry him, here, and now — 

He frets at a week's delay. 
When he pictures the joy that will crown his 
brow 

From the date of the wedding day. 

He knows I can fill his cup, to the brink, 
With such bliss as we seldom see, — 

But — it never occurs to the man to think 
If the bliss will be shared by — me\ 



HER WA Y OF WAITING 109 



HER WAY OF WAITING 

She sat and waited by the hedge, 

The western sky shone clear and yellow; 
White mists were rising from the sedge, 
The birds drank at the water's edge — 

She sat and watched for him — dear fellow! 

The fields grew dim, the sky grew gray, 

The stars, like timid flowers, were budding; 
She watched along the lonely way, 
While up the smooth sands of the bay 
The limpid, silvery tide came flooding. 

She watched; — but when she saw, at last. 
His tall form hurrying from the distance, 

She rose, nor look behind her cast. 

And walked the other way as fast 
As if he wasn't in existence! 



no THE OPEN BOOK 



IRISH COURTSHIP 

*'And how are ye, Kitty?" "Sure, is it 
yerself ? " 
"What's left of me, darlin' — it's not a great 
deal, 
And that little might just as well be on the 
shelf, 
For all that your hard heart would pity or 
feel." 

"No, thanks be to goodness, I'm not such a 
fool 
As the rest of the women, mind that, Master 
Ted!" 
"Ye're the cruel exception that's provin' the 
rule, 
And it's of that same proof, dear, I'm 
nearly half dead. " 

"Well, ye're wastin' yer time; don't I tell ye 
so, fiat. 
So trim up yer whiskers an' get yer hair 
curled; 



IRISH COURTSHIP in 

There's plenty of girls for the askin*, mind 
that." 
"But there's only one Kitty, just one, in the 
world." 

**If there's only one Kitty, then she's not 
for you." 
"Oh, troth, if she isn't, I'm surely forlorn! 
But I've made up my mind that I'll pound 
black and blue, 
The fella that gets her, as sure as he's born. 

"I'll break every bone in his body, Miss 
Kate, — 
For there's no other comfort would make 
me resigned; 
Then, if you can love him, good luck to your 
fate, 
For you'll marry a cripple, so now, do you 
mind? " 

"Sure ye know ye're a rascal." "An' that's 
just my name. 
And that's what I will be, and all for yer 
sake — 
But rascal or not, faith, I'll haunt ye, the 
same, 
And I'll follow ye, what iver road ye may 
take. 



112 THE OPEN BOOK I 

"Yell make me a divil, yes, that's what ye'U 
do, 
And then yell be proud of yer handiwork, 
dear, 
When I might be a saint, livin' peaceful wid 
you. 
In Heaven hereafter, and Paradise here." 

**A divil! Oh, Teddy, don't say it, that's 
wrong! 
Sure, ye're makin' me cry, wid yer schames 
an' yer art." 
*' Isn't that what I'm tryin' to do, all along — 
An' it's time I was kissin' yer tears off, 
sweetheart." 

"It's a slap ye'll be gettin' — take that, that 
and that." 
"An' welcome; ye know, dear, they tell us a 
kiss 
We must give for a blow^ Don't I see what 
ye're at, 
And faith I won't stint ye — take this, this 
and this." 



POETIC JUSTICE 113 



POETIC JUSTICE 

We've heard of the summer girl too much; 

We are tired of the modes and styles 
By which she endeavors to lure and clutch 

Unwary youth in her wiles. 

Why hasn't the poet extolled in rhyme 

The girl who discreetly goes 
Away from town for a quiet time 

And to get a rest from her beaux? 

Why doesn't he sing of the maid whose soul 

Is attuned to Nature's tone — 
Who prefers, by herself, through the woods to 
stroll, 

And to gaze at the moon, alone? 



I would answer thus: In great Nature's plan 

Is many a strange surprise, 
And — the poet may be a truthful man 

Who never has learned to tell lies. 



114 THE OPEN BOOK 



WHAT LIKE IS A LOVER? 

What like is a lover? A lover's like 
A straw, in the spring wind blowing! 

How far he will float, or where he'll strike, 
Is past all our wisest knowing. 

A straw in the wind, now here — now there, — 

And that's like a lover; so, sweet, beware! 

What like is a lover ? A light in a mist, 
Not well to be trusted, blindly — 

Sometimes found, but as often missed-^ 
Unkind, when he seems most kindly; 

A scorching sun, and a chilling shade — 

And that's like a lover; be warned, fair maid ! 

What like is a lover? My sweet sweetheart, 

Ah, nothing's like to a lover 
For guile and cunning, and wicked art ! 

Forswear them all, — and discover 
The one, one only, you need not fear 
To trust forever! ... 7 love you, dear! 



THE OLD, OLD STORY 115 



THE OLD, OLD STORY 

I CHOSE him out from all the rest — 

My Tom — he had three lovely brothers; 

But — well — he seemed to like me best 
Of all the girls. Oh, there were others 

That wanted him, but, somehow, he, 

Right from the first, kept after me. 

He was so splendid ! Big and kind 
And calm, and full of mischief, very. 

A romp seemed always to his mind. 
While I was rather prim than merry. 

Yet, when he was my own, I felt 

How fond a lover near me dwelt. 

Alas ! There came a time of change ; 

He cared no more for home nor quiet. 
His moods were reckless, wild, and strange; 

Night after night he spent in riot, 
Returning when the dawnlight came 
Quite heedless of reproach or blame. 

And so it went, till months were past. 
I was too proud to bang or beat him, 



Ii6 THE OPEN BOOK 

Or pull his whiskers — yet, at last, 

He left me. Now, I sometimes meet him; 
He has grown ugly, old, and fat — 
My handsome Maltese Thomas cat. 



CONSISTENT 

"'TwouLD never do," she firmly said; 
"The clustering curls that crown your head 
Are blond, which is my color, too. 
Your eyes, alas! like mine, are blue; 
Sanguine are both our temperaments. 
I am compelled to drive you hence, 
Science forbids that we should wed. 
'T would never do!" — she firmly said. 

**Then I must seek a dark brunette," 
He sadly sighed, — "with eyes of jet; 
A woman languid, dreamy, slow. 
Would be my counterpart — just so." 
He sighed. "Across the street from me 
Lives such a one — I'll go and see 
How she, on nearer view, appears." 
"And leave meV she inquired with tears. 



THE CRY OF THE REVIEWERS 117 



THE CRY OF THE REVIEWERS 

Aye, write, write, write! Oh, go on writing, 
do! 
Don't stop to let us breathe, nor to take 
breath — 

Speed, speed your stylo-pens — typewriters, 
too — 
The sooner we shall all be nearing death, 

And rest . . . and rest ! — Keep up the strenu- 
ous sprint. 

Scribble, erase, pad out, revise, and print. 

Print, print, and print ! Let pity be forgot — 

Let gentle mercy weep, and peace take wing; 
We yet have strength, it seems, to bear our 
lot; 
So cease not, halt not, — write up everything 
That brain, or want of it, can ponder o'er, 
And when that's written, then write up some 
more. 

Bring out your novels — one, or two, or three. 
Or ten, or twenty — but, make haste, make 
haste ! 



Ii8 THE OPEN BOOK 

Blizzards can't last, and plagues, whatever 

they be, 
Have limitations to their laying waste; 
Earthquakes are hurried, and the liveliest 

boom 
Soonest collapses, to its certain doom. 

So write, print, sell, — do everything you like, 
Or may, or can, or must. . . . But oh! — 
the bliss 
When heart-sick publishers go out on strike, 

And there is suddenly an end to this — 
No more new books, what joy! Oh, let us 

pray 
That we may live to see this glorious day! 



THE I OF ME 119 



THE I OF ME 

When I, forsooth, would go prancing forth 

Abroad over field and plain, 
These limbs of mine are so slow and loth 

I find I must use a cane. 

I'm as fond of reading the daily news 

As ever I was; indeed 
Rather more than of old, but — my eyes refuse— 

And of glasses I stand in need. 

For music's exquisite charm I yearn — 

Yes, just as I used to do. 
But alas, a deaf ear I now must turn — 

And not only one, but two! 

And as for Beauty, never before 

Did I yield to her magic sway 
With such vast capacity to adore, — 

But — Beauty won't look my way. 

Yet, these things prove Immortality! 

Though the body must heed Time's laws, 
Without any doubt, the I of Me 

Is as nimble as ever it was! 



I20 THE OPEN BOOK 



WHY? 

Why need a pretty woman chat 
When, from her sweet shut Hps, 

A language well worth looking at 
In silent utterance slips ? 

Why need a clever woman speak 
Her wit or wisdom; for 

Each man she meets — dull, mild, or meek- 
Feels her superior? 

Why need an ugly — No. — I fall 

Back to one simple cry — 
Why, why need women speak, at all? 



There is no reason why ! 



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